


Crescendo

by NeverwinterThistle



Series: Fort Frolic Redux [3]
Category: BioShock
Genre: Canon-Typical Misery, Conversations over cocktails, F/F, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Price of Utopia": the theme would make a decent song, if only Anna could <i>focus</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

_Best and Brightest: Anna Culpepper, Rapture's Soaring Star!_

She shivers deliciously at the headline. Can't help herself, and wouldn't have it any other way; if she hasn't earnt a little indulgence, then who has?

 

"Looks like I'm the flavour of the month again," she observes. Across the table, Jasmine smiles and tugs the newspaper from her fingers.

 

"Let me see! Oh, this _is_ high praise; I guess they liked your concert last week. Everyone did, darling, it was perfect."

 

"You spoil me." She reaches a hand across the table to tap Jasmine's wrist in mock reproach, signalling to a nearby waiter with the other. He glides over, bends his neck like a bowing crane and places menus in front of them both. "Madame, and Madame, for your viewing pleasure," and then the man is gone with another bow and a _pop_ of red light.

 

"Urgh," Jasmine says. "I can't stand the way they do that. What's wrong with good, old-fashioned walking?"

 

"Oh, don't be so stuffy. We must move with the times or get left behind by those who do, as Ryan's always saying."

 

A poor choice of words clothed in an ugly turn of phrase; she's ill-deserving of those accolades the critics heap on her, if she can bring such misery to another's face with her tactless mimicry. Anna doesn't often feel shame these days. Now, however, is the exception to the rule. "Sorry," she says, reaching for Jasmine's wrist again. She grasps it in gentle fingers, and the other woman doesn't pull away. "I'm a thoughtless bitch sometimes, don't mind me."

 

"Please, let's just read the menus. I've been looking forward to this since we came here last; you always know how to show me a good time." Jasmine's eyes are warm over the edge of her raised menu, dark as chocolate and far more forgiving. They always are. She wouldn't know what a grudge was if it bit her on the nose, poor lamb.

 

 _The Satyr_ has the decency to change its menus every second week. Keeps its clientele interested and makes the most of the occasional trouble with liquor suppliers. Rapture can only make so much of its own. And it's not the same as the stuff from topside anyway. The best establishments keep a little black book of contacts, people with access to the surface and the brains to keep such dealings out of Ryan's sight. Still, it's touch-and-go sometimes. Just one more price to pay for 'utopia'.

 

"Mm, I think I feel a song coming on," Anna hums, reaching for the notebook in her pocket. "Will you order for me, honey? You know what I like better than I do, I swear."

 

"Only because you won't take the time to work out what makes something really _decadent_."

 

 _And I know how much you like ordering for me_ , Anna thinks. _You like to feel you're looking after your girl. Well, I guess we both win there; I like it too._

"The price of utopia," she announces. "Something, something, a shortage of gin. Well, some might argue it's a price worth paying, but _I_ wouldn't be among them."

 

"Mint leaves," Jasmine says with a sigh. "Such a silly thing, but a Mint Fizz without mint leaves is hardly worth the trouble, is it?"

 

" _An absence of mint leaves, a shortage of gin_ , darling, at this rate people are going to think I'm making a veiled confession to alcoholic tendencies. Not at all the message I want to send. This song should be a scathing critique of the sacrifices we are increasingly being required to make. Sacrifices of comfort, certainly, but at some point it needs to depart from the material."

 

Jasmine lifts the menu to cover her laughter. A courtesan's trick. She flutters it like a fan, and her eyes seem to glow all the brighter. Such a skill she has with illusions. Is it any wonder she's the inspiration for half of Anna's songs, these days?

 

" _Seabreeze_ ," Jasmine murmurs, and Anna raises her eyebrows in question. "Another new addition to the menu. What a shame they didn't call it something different; maybe they're aiming for a nostalgic feel, but it's mostly just painful, don't you think? Not pleasant at all."

 

"Certainly not," Anna agrees, scribbling the name down on her notepad. "A higher price than gin shortages, even. Who in Rapture doesn't wish for a cool sea breeze on occasion?"

 

"Sunlight, waves, and open skies all the way to the horizon," Jasmine lays the menu aside and glances discreetly around for the waiter. "Sometimes I..."

 

"Hm?"

 

The waiter arrives with another red _pop_ , and Jasmine turns to face him gratefully. "A Gin and Sin for my companion, please. And a Mint Fizz for me."

                                                         

"Not completely ruined by an absence of mint leaves?" Anna asks playfully, and Jasmine's smile flits back into place.

 

"I'll sacrifice them for the sake of Rapture," she says, and they both break into laughter over the absurdity.

 

To their left, the water shifts and surges; a sea turtle swims past, and then another. The second pauses to nudge at the glass, until Anna waves and it flees in terror at the sight of her white gloves. They're sweet enough creatures, if a little brainless. And not quite as interesting as the dead-eyed sharks that drift by in a ghastly silence all their own. Anna is a musician. She can appreciate the nuances of a decent silence.

 

Jasmine prefers whales. A shame there are none to be seen today, on her little outing in Market Street; the viewing is less clear down in Fort Frolic, where nobody is expected to have their eyes fixed on the _windows_.

 

The turtles return, circling, bubbles billowing under their fins. Anna finds that a polite nod in greeting goes down better than a wave, which just goes to show that turtles are a needlessly snobbish breed of beast, and not at all worth her time. She's grateful when the drinks arrive and spare her from forcing further niceties.

 

Her cocktail looks like honeycomb in liquid form, bled into her glass. Anna makes an approving sound.  "Well, isn't this lovely! You have such immaculate taste, I envy you."

 

Jasmine's Mint Fizz is lacking in the mint department, but it seems to please her nonetheless. She sips it slowly and smiles. "You stop that. I'll get all high and mighty, and then nobody'll want anything to do with me."

 

"I will."

 

"Oh honey, it's so good of you to say so."

 

 _But you've heard it before, and it don't stick,_ Anna thinks sourly. _So convinced of your role as the ageing whore, the girl Ryan left behind. And you think I only know what you choose to tell me_.

 

Her fingers itch to write it down and put it to music; something that tragic would bring in the cash, but she doubts their friendship could survive the insult. Some things just aren't worth the price.

 

"Offer's still open if you change your mind," she says instead, frowning down at her notepad. Sea breezes and sunshine, a shortage of gin. Dum-dah-dah-dum. It's all a hopeless, tangled mess; she'll start no scandals with something so clumsy. Dum-dah-dah-dum. _My words are all muddled, my girl loves a man; my god, it's a bittersweet life._

 

"I can't," Jasmine tells her. Not for the first time, likely not for the last. "I don't want to be beholden to anyone, and we both know what it would do to your credibility. Taking pity on Andrew Ryan's leavings. Rapture needs you separate from that sort of mess, telling us all how it is."

 

 _And one day Ryan might want you back._ Anna doesn't comment on the flimsy excuses, swallowing down criticism with a large gulp of her cocktail. Tact is unheard of for the bold Miss Culpepper, but for Jasmine's sake she'll travel that uncharted territory and keep her unwanted opinions to herself.

 

"My apartment will be all the more lacking for your absence," she says, laying a hand over her heart and affecting a tragic grimace to show she doesn't take offense to the refusal. Her drink is suddenly too bitter for her liking; she debates pushing it aside, but can't quite force her fingers to uncurl from the glass. Jasmine will think she doesn't like it. And anyway, the gin may run dry tomorrow, and she'll regret being wasteful if it does.

 

Jasmine stares down at her half empty glass. She drinks slowly at outings like these. Rolls every sip over her tongue and swallows grudgingly; it's a treat to be out of Fort Frolic these days. She's never so careful with her liquor at Eve's Garden. Says cheap beer and sour wine make the pole slide easier through her fingers.

 

Another song Anna can't write. She scowls at the notepad and curses her luck; Sander Cohen has no such compunction with regards to his four Jezebels, and it's just her bad luck she was born with a softer heart than Ryan's songbird.

 

When she looks up again, Jasmine's eyes are fixed on the window, a smile tugging at her lips. Anna follows her gaze and finds herself face to fin with the whale drifting slowly past. A lucky sight, though not unheard of. The creatures are curious, drawn to Rapture's lights and labyrinthine buildings. Anna finds their patience ill-suited to the frenetic pace at which she prefers to live her days. Jasmine feels differently.

 

It seems somehow inconsiderate to fill up the silence with idle chatter, dragging her companion out of her trance like a desperate child starved of her mama's love. Anna sits still in a loneliness all of her own making, and tries to list the things she has lost. But how to separate them from things she never had, and things she can't blame Rapture for taking?

 

Eventually the whale passes from sight, and Jasmine's melting smile is turned back in her direction. "How's your song going, darling? Won't you give me a sneak peek at your newest masterpiece?"

 

"Not much to share."

 

"Hum me a bar, at least, go on! You know how your voice always gives me the tingles. There's nobody in Rapture can do that but you, Anna."

 

She downs the rest of her drink in a swallow and places the glass on the silver tray that materialises at her elbow. "Oh, I really couldn't. The decor here just isn't inspiring me today." She reaches for Jasmine's wrist again, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "Might have better luck at the Kashmir, what do you say? Soufflés for two, and I'll see if I can't drum up a tune for you."

 

She kisses Jasmine's palm. The other woman smiles and threads their fingers together, and even if she isn't actually happy to be in Anna's company, she does a very good job of faking otherwise.

 

"I love these days we spend together," she says. "I mean it, Anna, you're-"

 

"Oh, hush. I'm not your favourite, Jasmine flower, there's no need for lies between us." Anna leans across the table with a conspirational grin and whispers, "You don't need to soothe my pride like a _man's_. I don't have anything to overcompensate for." This brings about another round of giggles for both of them; who better than Jasmine to know how much their mightiest leaders compensate by, right down to the nearest inch?

 

Anna pays the bill and they leave arm in arm for the Kashmir, Jasmine leaning close to whisper scandals in her ear. And the song is there, but it's not the same; _what have we lost, what have we sacrificed_ , Anna asks herself, but the words take on a different shape in her mouth.

 

_My girl loves a man, and her man loves a dream... Dah-dah dum, dah-dah dum, dah-dah-dum..._


End file.
